Gattabout's Motorcycle
Greeting one and all. In today's post I will discuss an affliction that strikes many a teenage boy. It is called motormania. The main symptom is the insatiable urge to operate anything motorized.
My brother, Sir Gattabout, was severely afflicted. He started with the riding lawnmower. Then, after he got his driver's licence, the family car. Once he saved enough from his work after school he made the plunge into vehicle ownership. He bought a motorcycle.
Mom wasn't real happy about this. "You'll get hurt." was one of her favorite arguments against his ownership. "Gattabout would reply that her dad owned and drove a motorcycle up until the day that he died of a heart attack on the way to bingo. Finally, she relented and he was off on adventures one could only imagine.
He owned a blue Kawasaki with a matching blue helmet. Shortly after he acquired the motorcycle, the law was changed and helmet wearing was made optional. He told mom that he would still wear his helmet. He lied, too. Once he was beyond her sight, the helmet came off, and the wind blew through his long red hair (this was the 70's).
I would like to say that he was always safe and law-abiding while riding, but I can't. He would come home and ask me, "I'll bet you can't guess how fast I took my motorcycle tonight." Not only did he ride it on the freeway to work, he also rode it to Westerville to Grandma's house. It was at Grandma's where tragedy befell him.
He was across the street in a field owned by the Catholic school that was up the street from Grandma's. He had several of his Westerville buddies with him, and he was showing off on his motorcycle for them. While he was trying to pop and ride a wheelie, the bike flipped and landed on him, breaking his arm.
He was taken to the hospital, and the doctor set his arm and put a cast on it. The doctor told him that he wouldn't be able to ride his motorcycle for at least six weeks, due to the position and severity of the break. Dad put his Motorcycle in Grandma's garage until Gattabout could ride again. I don't think mom or dad ever got the real story on how he wrecked and broke his arm. Mom simply looked at him and said "I told you that you would hurt yourself".
He owned that motorcycle several years, and sold it after he was in the military for awhile (which is a whole different set of stories which will come at a later time).
I've never owned a motorcycle. Have you?
Greeting one and all. In today's post I will discuss an affliction that strikes many a teenage boy. It is called motormania. The main symptom is the insatiable urge to operate anything motorized.
My brother, Sir Gattabout, was severely afflicted. He started with the riding lawnmower. Then, after he got his driver's licence, the family car. Once he saved enough from his work after school he made the plunge into vehicle ownership. He bought a motorcycle.
Mom wasn't real happy about this. "You'll get hurt." was one of her favorite arguments against his ownership. "Gattabout would reply that her dad owned and drove a motorcycle up until the day that he died of a heart attack on the way to bingo. Finally, she relented and he was off on adventures one could only imagine.
He owned a blue Kawasaki with a matching blue helmet. Shortly after he acquired the motorcycle, the law was changed and helmet wearing was made optional. He told mom that he would still wear his helmet. He lied, too. Once he was beyond her sight, the helmet came off, and the wind blew through his long red hair (this was the 70's).
I would like to say that he was always safe and law-abiding while riding, but I can't. He would come home and ask me, "I'll bet you can't guess how fast I took my motorcycle tonight." Not only did he ride it on the freeway to work, he also rode it to Westerville to Grandma's house. It was at Grandma's where tragedy befell him.
He was across the street in a field owned by the Catholic school that was up the street from Grandma's. He had several of his Westerville buddies with him, and he was showing off on his motorcycle for them. While he was trying to pop and ride a wheelie, the bike flipped and landed on him, breaking his arm.
He was taken to the hospital, and the doctor set his arm and put a cast on it. The doctor told him that he wouldn't be able to ride his motorcycle for at least six weeks, due to the position and severity of the break. Dad put his Motorcycle in Grandma's garage until Gattabout could ride again. I don't think mom or dad ever got the real story on how he wrecked and broke his arm. Mom simply looked at him and said "I told you that you would hurt yourself".
He owned that motorcycle several years, and sold it after he was in the military for awhile (which is a whole different set of stories which will come at a later time).
I've never owned a motorcycle. Have you?
2 comments:
He Who Shall Not Be Named had one, and one night very late we took it out, and he managed to lock the keys in the seat. We had to get a ride home from a total stranger.
The road was meant to be traveled on 2 wheels. Yes, I have a motorcycle.
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